Can Such Things Be? eBook

“We have waited for you,” said the coroner.
“It is necessary to have done with this business
to-night.”

The young man smiled. “I am sorry to have
kept you,” he said. “I went away,
not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper
an account of what I suppose I am called back to relate.”

The coroner smiled.

“The account that you posted to your newspaper,”
he said, “differs, probably, from that which
you will give here under oath.”

“That,” replied the other, rather hotly
and with a visible flush, “is as you please.
I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent.
It was not written as news, for it is incredible, but
as fiction. It may go as a part of my testimony
under oath.”

“But you say it is incredible.”

“That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear
that it is true.”

The coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the
floor. The men about the sides of the cabin
talked in whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze
from the face of the corpse. Presently the coroner
lifted his eyes and said: “We will resume
the inquest.”

The men removed their hats. The witness was
sworn.

“What is your name?” the coroner asked.

“William Harker.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?”

“Yes.”

“You were with him when he died?”

“Near him.”

“How did that happen—­your presence,
I mean?”

“I was visiting him at this place to shoot and
fish. A part of my purpose, however, was to
study him and his odd, solitary way of life.
He seemed a good model for a character in fiction.
I sometimes write stories.”

“I sometimes read them.”

“Thank you.”

“Stories in general—­not yours.”

Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre
background humor shows high lights. Soldiers
in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest
in the death chamber conquers by surprise.

“Relate the circumstances of this man’s
death,” said the coroner. “You may
use any notes or memoranda that you please.”

The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript
from his breast pocket he held it near the candle
and turning the leaves until he found the passage
that he wanted began to read.

II—­WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS

" . . . The sun had hardly risen when we left
the house. We were looking for quail, each with
a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said
that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that
he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail through
the chaparral. On the other side was comparatively
level ground, thickly covered with wild oats.
As we emerged from the chaparral Morgan was but a
few yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at
a little distance to our right and partly in front,
a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes,
which we could see were violently agitated.